


Sharing an Umbrella

by Ellie_Rosie



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fluff, Kissing in the Rain, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-13
Updated: 2017-01-13
Packaged: 2018-09-17 08:19:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9313247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellie_Rosie/pseuds/Ellie_Rosie
Summary: Three times Viktor and Yuuri share an umbrella.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Зонтик на двоих](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9579566) by [helenbeauty01](https://archiveofourown.org/users/helenbeauty01/pseuds/helenbeauty01)



 

 

**_One_.**

 

The first time they share an umbrella, it isn’t _technically_ an umbrella. It’s a parasol. And it’s all Hiroko’s fault. 

“Viktor, darling, look at you. You’re so pale you’ll _burn._ ” She presses the parasol – all butterfly-wing folds and wooden spider legs – into the startled Russian’s hands. Startled because, firstly, he isn’t aware that he’s going somewhere, and, secondly, because Hiroko is beaming up at him like a flower facing the sun for no apparent reason. “There you go. To keep the sun off.” Hiroko presses her fists together by her left shoulder, miming the twirl of a parasol. “Like that. To stop the burning.” 

And then she shuffles off, leaving a bemused but entirely endeared Viktor staring down at the cherry blossom pink parasol pressed into his hand. He holds it up as Hiroko had demonstrated, giving an experimental twirl. There is something Romantic about it, capital _R_. So Viktor stands there, smiling to himself and twirling his parasol, pacing up and down with it, picturing what it would be like to promenade under the blossom trees with a certain Japanese skater on his arm. 

“What are you doing?”

Viktor splutters to a stop, to see Yuuri standing at the end of the hallway, head tilted like a confused puppy and something in Viktor just _melts_. His insides feel like one of those arty photographs of outer-space, the way nebulas spill into the stars and flow and expand in galactic ripples. It feels like _everything_. 

Quite suddenly, Viktor’s hands are just that little bit too slippery to keep a tight grasp on his parasol. Yuuri adjusts his glasses, pushes them just a smidge further up his nose, and _this is so unfair how can he make that look so cute_ runs through Viktor’s head.

Viktor gives his parasol a little twirl, just for something to do, because everything feels like it should be moving. Like a watercolour. 

“Will you be my tour guide, Yuuri?” Viktor holds his arm out, bent at the elbow. A question mark. He watches as whiskey-amethyst eyes widen and then fall to the ground like snowflakes, as cheeks heat to a sunset red. It’s all perfectly adorable, but something in Viktor aches; he wants Yuuri to look at him, all of the time, to never feel like he has to look away. The shyness is endearing, but it’s a symptom. “Hmm?” 

“Wh. What, would you like to see?” 

Yuuri looks up and Viktor’s smile blooms. Forget-me-not eyes flourish. Dry lips peel up and back into a soft, am-I-doing-this-right smile.

“Whatever you would like to show me.” 

When Yuuri takes Viktor’s arm, as clichéd as it sounds, it’s like two puzzle pieces slotting together. Neither man is quite sure what the picture forming is, just that it is warm and comfortable and it smells of spring. 

Hiroko was right – the sun is _glaring_ down at Hatsetsu. Viktor pops up his parasol and, even though he suspects Yuuri is acclimatised to such weather, he holds it in between the two of them, just in case. Light comes through in smudged pink, and everything is _beautiful._

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

**_Two._ **

 

_Viktor kissed me. Viktor kissed me and he actually meant to and holy shit he maybe might want to do it again_. _Viktor kissed me. Viktor Nikiforov kissed me._  

And now, Viktor Nikiforov’s arm is around Yuuri’s shoulders. Not quite forceful, but a little bit more than gentle. Strong. Sturdy. Yuuri feels like he’s anchored, in no danger of drifting away like he used to post-competition, when he would analyse things so intensely that he would manage to convince himself that even the most perfect jump had been a failure. 

It’s raining in Beijing, and gilded by the streetlight the rain could almost be stardust. The heat is oppressive, weighing heavily on the air, and the rain relieves some of the pressure in pinpricks. 

None of the rain is hitting Yuuri, however, because Viktor is holding a big black umbrella over the two of them. It seems an absurd thought, and really it is nothing more than a passing but pleasant velleity, but to Yuuri it sort of feels like home. All of the ingredients are there; shelter, love, warmth, support, trust. 

Viktor’s arm squeezes just a little bit, gentle-soft, and Yuuri finds his nose being pressed to the Russian man’s chest. On the in-breath, Yuuri can’t help but think _he smells of home._  

They stop at a crossing, and there’s no one around, and it’s raining, and they’re sharing an umbrella, and it’s ticking all of the clichés for a Perfect Kiss. But all of the moisture in Yuuri’s mouth suddenly evaporates, and his tongue feels too heavy for his mouth, and every breath is a curved fingernail tracing up his jugular. He turns his face up to Viktor, though, because _want_ is stronger than _what if_. 

Viktor looks down at him, the tip of his tongue darting out to wet his lower lip, one sharp eyebrow jutting in playful amusement. The bones in Yuuri’s legs transfigure into water. 

“If there’s something you want, Yuuri,” Viktor purrs after a moment of sticky silence, “you should ask for it.”

“H-hotpot,” Yuuri finds himself stuttering because, well, he’s hungry and how is he supposed to pick his thoughts apart from one another when Viktor is so _close_ and so _perfect_ and so _Viktor?_  He goes red right to the tips of his ears. “I would like hotpot, please.” 

Viktor rolls his eyes, but it doesn’t feel like Yuuri is being laughed at. It feels like he is being _loved_. The bones in his legs come back to him as Viktor gives him another squeeze. All of the feeling in his body zips up to his forehead as Viktor’s lips constellate there, pressing a gentle kiss that lingers on Yuuri’s skin for a long time after the older man’s pulled away. 

“Hotpot it is then. I know the _best_ place!”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

**_Three_.**

 

St Petersburg is beautiful, even in the rain. Whispers seep out of the pores of the pavement and spill into the roads. There’s so much _history_ for a such a relatively young city, and a lifetime isn’t long enough for someone to take all of it in. But that’s okay; sometimes the present is worth getting lost in. 

For Yuuri and Viktor, this is most definitely the case. 

They are stood on a bridge, the river beneath them sighing and the gulls above them braying in rivulets. Viktor’s hands are full – one holding an umbrella above them, the over biting softly into the curve of Yuuri’s hip. His blue eyes are blown out wide, and then melting like butter left in the sun. Because Yuuri is teetering on his tiptoes, his arms are thrown snugly around Viktor’s neck, and his mouth is crashing against Viktor’s. It’s breathing together. 

Viktor lets his eyes lip shut, and all he can see is Yuuri. Sunlight peeks around the soft edges of a cloud, and it glints off of their matching rings like a promise. 

For a moment they pull away, just enough for Viktor to rub their noses together in an eskimo kiss, and then Yuuri kisses him again. Because he can. Because he’s Viktor’s, and Viktor is his.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> So a little while ago, I read about 'sharing an umbrella' being a Japanese way of referring to two people being in love. I thought it was a really sweet idea, so this was kind of born of that. I know this isn't that great, but I am a sleep-deprived student, so please go easy on me. 
> 
> Thank you very much for reading this little fic, and I hope you enjoyed it! :)


End file.
